


The Blizzard

by aussieokie



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen, The Blacklist Secret Santa, Tumblr: tumblrsecretsanta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussieokie/pseuds/aussieokie
Summary: My creation for the 2016 Blacklist Secret Santa on Tumblr, written for my recipient @abouttheblacklistIt's Christmas Eve, and Washington DC has been hit by the biggest blizzard in years. But even in a storm, you can still make the best of things.





	

As Ressler sits at his desk, he’s interrupted once more by the buzz on Liz’s phone announcing another weather alert. They’ve been coming in fast and furious all afternoon. He steals a glance across at her, lifting only his eyes. It’s a habit that he’s long since stopped trying to reason out. He does it and has since day one with her. He’s not going to overthink it. Or perhaps he IS overthinking it by telling himself he’s not overthinking it.

“What now? Tsunami of mega proportions or a hurricane about to wipe out DC?” he asks, done with watching her covertly as he raises his head.

“Now there’s a thought,” she replies, tossing a smile his way as she lifts up her phone. Tapping the screen, she groans again. “Ugh. Now they’re saying 9 inches of snow has fallen, and we’re in for a few inches more overnight.” Dropping the phone to her desk she looks across to him. “We should have left hours ago. You know that, right? Or we’re never going to get out of here in time.”

“Tell that to our Blacklister of the day, who had other plans requiring our presence this afternoon,” he replies. Shifting in his chair, he winces as bruised ribs complain after his altercation with their suspect two hours previously. A suspect who is now safely behind bars at FBI Headquarters and out of their hair.

She watches, nods and gives him a small smile. “Plans that involved shooting you.”

“Shooting my vest,” he clarifies, “not me.”

“Right,” she grins, “because you’re indestructible.”

“Just call me Iron Man,” he smiles, once again wondering just why he says things with her that he just doesn’t with others. He is more himself around Liz than with anyone else he knows.

As she’s grinning and thinking up a quick reply, they’re interrupted as Aram knocks on their door.

 “Um, guys. It’s official,” Aram informs them, coming into their office. “All roads are closed. They’ve basically just shut down the entire city grid.”

Dropping her pen to her desk, Liz sighs and runs a hand through her hair in exasperation. “On Christmas Eve. Great. How are we supposed to get home?” Liz asks him, glancing at Ressler across the desk, almost as if it’s his fault they’re still here.

Ressler looks from Aram to his partner, unfazed. “We don’t. Looks like we’re staying here tonight,” he tells her, glancing out into the war room through the window blinds. Everyone made it out before the roads were closed and the task force are the only ones remaining in the underground black site.

Aram speaks up again, nervously hovering near Ressler’s desk. “Actually, I kinda thought this might happen so I checked earlier, and there are several emergency cots in the supply closet. So I’ll grab a couple for you guys,” he tells them.

“Wow, look who’s being the boy scout and being all prepared. Thanks, Aram,” Liz replies. “There’s not much room in here, but I can squeeze it behind my desk.”

The elevator doors to the war room open, surprising all three of them as the metallic sound fills the quiet room.

“Son of a bitch…” Ressler mutters as Reddington and Dembe walk down between the desks toward the lights in their shared office. Apparently not even the mega tsunami, hurricane strength snow storm is going to stop Reddington visiting.

“Donald! Lizzie. Agent Mojtabai, how fortuitous that you’re still here. It appears that despite my promise of a triple bonus to the pilot, not even my jet can take off in this godawful white out, so Montego Bay will have to wait. My colleague and I were in need of a place to lay our heads for the night on this snowy Christmas Eve, and you’re it, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Right…” Aram takes a step back, clearly unsure about this. Reddington turns silently to meet the IT guy, as Aram squirms under his glare.

Ressler doesn’t miss a beat as he folds his arms, feeling the pull on his bruised torso and looks at the criminal. “We have a lovely bullet proof, bomb proof, everything proof steel lined box for you. It’s just your style,” he tells the criminal, trying not to sound too condescending. And failing miserably, because he’s really not trying that hard.

Red regards him, the smile playing on his lips. “Why thank you, Donald. Not exactly a palm fringed resort, but that will be perfect,” he turns to Dembe. “Come along Dembe, grab a couple of blankets for us there.” He turns back to Ressler and calls out, “I take it the code is still ROMEO?”

“Um, actually, it’s… NAVABI,” Aram tells him, pressing himself back against the wall, as if waiting for the retort.

Red turns, tilts his head and smiles. “Interesting. Come along, Dembe.”

“You’re not actually going to make him sleep in there… are you?” Aram asks Ressler, before peering through the blinds at the departing criminal.

“That’s why he came. He won’t feel safe sleeping anywhere in this building BUT in that box. And he and I both know that.”

Across from him, Liz grins. “You two are far more alike than you’re willing to let on, you know that?”

Ressler gives her a small smile, “Right. Just don’t expect me to go tuck him in.”

Liz grins as Aram finishes setting up a cot behind her desk.

“You can tuck Agent Keen in then,” Aram offers, then slowly faces Ressler. “Oh… did I say that out loud…?”

Ressler merely looks at him steadily, and he can tell himself he’s not enjoying the horrified look on Aram’s face, but he’d be lying.

“Well, this is awkward…” Aram murmurs, then gives them a nod as he quickly makes his way back to his desk area to set up his own cot for the night.

“Thank you, Aram!” Liz calls out to him, before looking at Ressler across their desks. And Ressler is simply looking, because the prospect of tucking her in…

“Right then…” Liz says, before they both look away, suddenly engrossed in the reports on their desk, though he could care less about filing a report on the perp who left his torso black and blue.

“So, Christmas Eve at work. How…different,” she says, smiling at him before picking up her coffee cup and grimacing at its cold contents. “Uuggh. I’m going to put more coffee on. Looks like we’re going to need it tonight,” she tells him and then gets up from her desk. He nods as she walks by then grabs his empty cup and follows her - and he doesn’t normally even drink coffee this time of night.

“Aram, you want coffee?” she calls over to their coworker who is surveying his handiwork with a made up cot in the alcove behind his desk. “Looks very comfy there,” she tells him and he grins sheepishly, realizing he’s actually sharing sleeping quarters with his colleagues.

“Um, just decaf, I think. Thanks,” he tells her, smiling at her and looking away as Ressler walks with her to the break room.

Ressler is leaning on the break room counter top while Liz busies herself with the coffee pot. “What would you have been doing tonight if we weren’t stuck here?” he asks her, placing his empty coffee cup on the counter behind him.

As she turns he sees the faraway look in her eyes. “Well, I have ornaments that Sam and I used to put up on our tree each year. We used to buy one special ornament every year, and so our collection had got pretty big. I hadn’t even put up the tree yet, so I probably would have done that,” she tells him quietly, meeting his eyes.

“Nothing like leaving things to the last minute, huh?” he teases as she fills her cup. “But I’m sorry your plans got changed,” he replies, looking up at the door as Aram enters.

“What about you, Aram? What would you have been doing tonight?” Liz asks him, getting her mind onto others.

Ressler is sure Aram blushes, but it’s hard to tell with his complexion. “Uh, well, I was going to cook dinner and maybe invite a… friend over,” he says slowly.

Liz smiles at him and nudges into him as he stands near her. “That friend wouldn’t be anyone we happen to know?” she teases, knowing full well who Aram is referring to.

“Um, maybe, but I don’t even know if she would have said yes,” he admits. “Guess it doesn’t matter now though…right?”

Liz leans conspiratorially over to him. “Between you and me, I think she would have said yes. And you know, it doesn’t have to be Christmas Eve before you invite her over, Aram,” she grins and this time he really does blush at his transparency where his coworkers are concerned.

“Right, um, so I’ll have some coffee if it’s ready, and it doesn’t need to be decaf. I think I can handle the hard stuff tonight,” he says, changing the subject.

Ressler is watching them both, knowing he’s the odd man out. Liz and Aram might have been doing something to celebrate Christmas Eve tonight, but not him. He had nothing other than an appointment with a beer, a newspaper and probably _It’s a Wonderful Life_ playing on a basically unwatched TV in the background. He looks down momentarily as it occurs to him that being stuck at work tonight is probably just as Reddington had said – fortuitous. Not to mention the most social thing he’s done in some time.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Liz interrupts and as he looks up he notices Aram has left.

“It’s nothing,” he smiles before grabbing his empty cup from behind him.

“You didn’t have any plans, did you?” she asks with a hint of sadness as he is filling his cup.

Lowering the coffee pot, being careful to put it on the heat pad properly as he looks sideways at her, he smiles and deflects his answer. “You’re not profiling me, are you?”

She knows what he’s doing. “Ress, you’re an open book to me. Profiling doesn’t even enter into it!”

She’s right about him, of course. She knows him better than anyone, despite his attempts to hide what lies beneath. But the truth is, he doesn’t mind letting her in. He can live with her knowing he’s a flawed boy scout. He can sleep at night knowing that. And as he’s looking at her, a plan takes shape in his mind. The roads are closed. The footpaths are not. It’s Christmas Eve and just two blocks away is an all-night store. Granted, there is a blizzard outside, but the idea has taken hold now and there is no stopping it.

“I might surprise you though and do something completely reckless,” he tells her, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Hah! Oh, my gosh, Donald Ressler doing something reckless? Oh, now that I would pay to see,” she laughs as they exit the break room and walk down the deserted hallway back to the war room.

“Yeah? Challenge accepted,” he replies, turning to Aram as they pass his desk. “That dinner you were going to cook for… for your friend, what if you just changed the dinner guests?”

Liz is staring at him. This is a different side to him and it’s refreshing to see. Perhaps there is some recklessness in there, after all. “What are you up to?”

“The bodega down the street prides itself on being open in rain, shine or blizzards. And probably tsunamis and hurricanes. We can go grab some food, bring it back and cook it here. Instant Christmas Eve dinner.”

“It’s freezing out there!” Liz gasps, almost choking on her coffee.

“Yes,” he nods, “I know, but it’s not that far. We can walk there and be back before we know it.”

“I could fall and be buried under 15 inches of snow before we know it, too!”

“Okay, well, in that case, I’ll go then. I think I know my way down the street by myself. I’ve been doing it since I was 7,” he smiles. And meeting her eyes, he sees the moment she decides he’s not going alone.

“Oh, but you also might trip and fall and be buried and we wouldn’t find you till Spring,” she laughs, putting her coffee cup on Aram’s desk and shaking her head as she grins at them both. “No, this is a two-man job. Or one-man, one-woman job,” she says with mock seriousness. “I must be catching the Christmas spirit, or something. But yep, let’s do this.”

Aram is grinning, standing up from his desk. “There is a stove and microwave in the break room. So assuming you can get there and they haven’t run out or are closed…yeah, let’s do it!” he tells them. “I’ll go tell Mr Reddington!” he adds, and makes his way from the room toward the hallway leading to the box. He turns back, faltering. “Oh, um, you don’t suppose he’s already asleep, do you?” he asks, worried at waking the criminal.

Ressler shakes his head. “He won’t be as soon as you get near the box, I can assure you. The man will wake with a frog farting at 500 yards.”

“A frog…what?” Liz asks, grinning as Ressler shakes his head.

Aram nods, not quite convinced, but turns to continue to the box. “Or, what if he has Dembe standing by with an AK-47, or something equally as lethal?” he asks, turning back to them.

“You’ll be fine, Aram!” she laughs as he stands there, torn on which direction to walk.

“Though Dembe is armed, and a very good shot,” Ressler deadpans.

“Oh, God,” they hear Aram mutter as he hesitates, then takes off down the corridor. “Um. Mr Reddington!” he shouts, giving Dembe and his hypothetical assault rifle plenty of warning on who’s approaching. “It’s me. It’s just Aram!”

As Aram disappears Ressler and Liz make their way to their office to grab their coats, hats, scarves and gloves. If they have to walk two blocks there and back, they’re going to need to rug up for it.

###

The air is frigid outside, and as Ressler pulls open the door to exit the building, snow flies into the corridor as the wind rushes into the enclosed space in a white arctic blast.

“Oh, my God!” Liz jumps back from the onslaught, as Ressler peers into the white. Visibility is low, but he can still see street lights and the faint glow of lit buildings through the driving snow. The wind chill is very low, causing him to rethink this. Liz doesn’t need to be out in that.

He calls over to her as the wind howls around them. “Look, I’ll just go and be back-”

But she’s already pulling her hat further down and her scarf further up, leaving only her blue eyes peering at him. “No! We go together! We got this!” she shouts, clapping her gloved hands together. “Let’s go!” she calls, stepping up to the door.

He nods, pulls open the door then slams it shut behind them as they stand between two buildings. The snow is not too deep here, in the relative shelter of the alleyway. But as they reach the footpath on the street, the full intensity of the blizzard hits them.

This is probably not his finest idea, but as his arm finds hers he stays close beside her turns in the direction of the grocery store, bringing the wind around to their backs. At least that is some small comfort. The lights from the next block fall across the footpath and roadway ahead of them. A beacon in the driving snow, showing them that grocery store is indeed still open. They make their way through the deep snow, the wind and the scarfs around their faces stopping any conversation. Almost knee deep, the snow tugs at their shoes as they make their way together, trudging purposefully toward the growing neon sign in the distance.

As they cross the street between blocks, it’s hard to tell where the foot path ends and the road begins. He turns to her, shouting above the wind toward her ear.

“You okay?!”

And even despite the cold and snow, there is a lively glint in her eyes as they turn and meet his. She nods, shouting back to him. “I’m good! Keep going!”

And grinning behind his scarf at the almost foolishness of their mission, he keeps hold of her upper arm in his gloved hand and stays close against her. He can’t offer much in the way of heat or a windbreak, but he can support her if she loses her footing. And despite the fact that supporting her is making his bruised torso even more painful, he wouldn’t even consider not doing it.

As they approach the store, a single shopper who is apparently as crazy as them walks out with bags in hand, head bowed against the wind.

“We made it!” Liz calls out, and making their way inside they stomp the snow off their shoes onto the sodden mat, peering around at the almost deserted store. The air feels hot after the icy cold outside, and silent inside as the wind no longer howls around their ears.

They grab a cart and after Ressler tucks his snowy hat and gloves in his coat pockets, he pushes the cart with Liz beside him. She’s surveying the aisles, figuring out what they need to get done as quickly as they can. “This way,” she says, and he follows dutifully, acutely aware of how domestic it feels - and equally aware that he likes it. As he’s pushing the cart behind her, she turns, meets his eyes and smiles. Despite the arctic conditions it took to get here, she likes it too.

They settle on a precooked turkey roast, frozen vegetables, precooked pies and some whipped cream. Everything can be reheated on the stovetop or in the microwave. As they make their way back to the check outs, Ressler spies the Christmas decoration aisle. He slows, looking at a display of a small desktop tree. Liz slows too and follows his gaze.

The smile grows on her features, and with a nod to each other they approach the display. He chooses the box that holds the 32” pre-lit tree while she grabs a pack of small ornaments and a few garlands of tinsel. As she puts it in the basket she touches his arm.

“So despite the fact that it’s like the North Pole out there, this was a good idea. I think I like this reckless side of you,” she smiles.

He does too.

###

They’re waiting near the checkout as a woman and a small boy pay for their groceries ahead of them. He’s blonde, about 4 years old and wrapped up so tight in his winter clothing that his little arms can barely touch his sides. The boy is fascinated with an Iron Man action figure near him, deliberately right at child level to bleed those last few dollars out of harassed mothers. And this mother is no exception as the little boy asks her if he can take Tony Stark home for Christmas.

“Mommy doesn’t have enough for that. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Ressler is watching the exchange as the mother bags her few purchases and steps away from the register. The little boy turns his big eyes to Ressler and Liz, disappointment written all over him, yet still he waves. Liz waves her gloved fingers back at him.

“Sammy, let me get these on you,” his mother addresses him, tugging at the zipper on his coat, attempting to smother the child under gloves, hat and scarf.

As they pay for their own groceries and tree, Ressler doesn’t even hesitate and reaches across and adds the Iron Man figure to their small pile of items. As Ressler pays, he’s watching the mother putting on her own scarf and gloves, ready to take the boy back outside, before he makes his way over to the woman, Liz in tow.

“Excuse me,” he tells the boy’s mother, “but I couldn’t help but overhear. May I?” he asks, showing her what he has in the bag and gesturing to the boy.

“Oh!” The woman’s hands fly to her mouth as she nods. “You shouldn’t have! But yes, thank you!”

Ressler turns to the boy and crouches down to him, ignoring the flare of pain across his chest. Tucked behind his scarf and hat, the tiny face of the boy looks up at him. Ressler swallows, caught up in those impossibly big blue eyes and speaks to the child. “Tony Stark told me he didn’t want to stay in the store at Christmas, and he wanted to go home with you.”

“Really?” the boy asks, his eyes lighting up. “He picked me out of all the little boys?”

“That’s what he wants,” Ressler tells him, and as he hands the child the toy, the boy’s little face lights up at the sight of his very own Iron Man.

“Mama! Look!”

“I see that! What do you say, Sam?” the mother asks her son, her voice quivering.

“Thank you, sir!” he beams, barely sparely a glance at Ressler as he looks intently at his toy. “Wow! Tony Stark is coming home with me! I got Iron Man!”

“You’re very welcome, dude,” Ressler tells the boy, and is about to stand up when the boy looks right at him.

“My daddy was my Iron Man. But he’s with Jesus now.”

Not what Ressler was expecting and finding the boys back, he pats it gently as images of his own past arise. Of his father killed on the job. Of a pregnancy test and a dead fiancé. Of missed opportunities and a family he doesn’t have. He squashes it down, pats the child on the back and finds his voice. “Even though your daddy is in Heaven, I know he is very proud of you and will always love you and watch over you,” he tells the boy.

“Yes. He’s my angel now,” Sam tells him, in that simple way that children have where there are no opinions, just undeniable facts.

Ressler nods and pats the boys back. “He always will be, buddy. So you and mommy and Iron Man have a Merry Christmas, okay?”

“We will!”

“Thank you,” the mother tells Ressler as he rises to his feet again. “We don’t have much this year…” she says, tears still threatening as she touches Ressler’s arm with her gloved hand. Liz moves closer to her, wrapping her arm around the woman’s back briefly. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “But Merry Christmas,” she tells the woman, as the tears finally spill over before she brushes them away, not wanting her little boy to see. But Sam is engrossed in his toy, oblivious.

The mother looks to Ressler, touching his arm once more. “You and your lady have a blessed Christmas,” she tells him before thanking them once more and herding her boy toward the front doors. Sam grins and waves to them, hugging his Iron Man toy tightly.

“Bye bye, mister! Thank you!”

Ressler watches the little boy walk away, then glances at Liz. The woman had mistaken Liz for ‘his lady’. And neither of them had corrected her.

“You’re very sweet, you know that?” Liz tells her partner as they don their own hats and gloves again, before stepping outside into the snow.

“Wow!” Liz stops as they stand together outside the store. In the short time they’ve been inside the wind has dropped remarkably. Gone is the howl down the street, and while the snow still falls heavily it now drifts downward, caught at times in an occasional gust. The air is silent as deep snow blankets the entire street. Visibility is still low, but the street has taken on a magical glow as streetlights shine out, casting pale yellow circles on the snow below them.

Holding the two bags in one hand, Ressler takes her elbow in his as they make their way back toward the post office with their shopping. Neither wants to dwell on the fact that the woman they’d just met recently lost her husband and a little boy doesn’t have a daddy at home. But each knows they helped a mother and her son in some small way.

In the cold, still air, she turns a little to him as they crunch through the deep snow. “His name was Sam…” is all she says, and he nods, knowing the significance.

The wind picks up again half way back to the post office, filling the air around them with huge white flakes, swirling around them as they walk through it. Liz stops briefly under a street light, hands held out as flakes fall on her leather gloves and outreached arms. She’s smiling, enjoying the snow on her upturned face and Ressler can’t take his eyes off her. Cheeks red in the cold, her eyes are alight. No Christmas tree lights could come close.

He stands as she twirls in a silent dance of her own and as she comes around again to face him she smiles. “Sam and I always danced in the snow when we had a white Christmas,” she reminisces, and instead of it being a sad memory he sees how much it lights her up inside. “And I might be crazy, but I don’t think it was a coincidence we met another little Sam in the snow tonight,” she smiles, and he nods in agreement.

She comes to stand beside him again and hooks her arm in his as they continue on their way, walking together in the snow. He doesn’t say a word as she leans into him and suddenly he wishes the walk back to the post office was several more blocks.

“I miss him though,” she says, and now she looks longingly into the distance. ‘Christmas is hard without him.”

“I know.” And he does, because he knows about love and loss.

They walk in silence for the last half block before turning into the alley and entering the building, stomping snow off their feet and locking the door securely behind them. As they make their way back to the war room, Red and Dembe are talking with Aram. They also hear another voice.

“Samar!” Liz calls out, surprised to see their coworker.

“Lizzie! We were about to send out a search party! I trust your shopping trip was pleasant and forthcoming?” He’s not asking if they got food, as he can see the shopping bags. Ressler is fully aware he’s meaning something else as they head toward the small group.

Samar replies, leaning on her desk as they approach from the elevator. “I couldn’t get home before the roads were closed. Aram texted to see if I’d made it home okay and when I hadn’t, he then suggested I just come back here.”

“And we’re very glad you could make it to our little gathering,” Red beams, ever the cordial host.

“But how did you get back here if the roads are closed?” Liz asked, walking together toward the break room.

“Would you believe I hitched a ride on a snow plow, then walked the last block?” Samar smiles, as Red laughs out loud at her ingenuity.

“Now all we need are Harold and Charlene and our little group will be complete,” he adds. “though I daresay they’re having a much better time than us, by the fire at home.”

“I doubt that,” Ressler says softly, and Liz turns and squeezes his arm, smiling at him.

“I heard that, Donald. Careful, your Scrooge is slipping. If you’re not careful, you’ll be enjoying yourself soon.”

Ressler ignores the jab. Because Reddington is wrong for once. He already is enjoying the evening.

Making their way to the break room, Aram organizes the food – after a resounding vote that they didn’t want Liz anywhere near it and Reddington chiming in about burnt offerings not on the menu tonight. And channeling his best Betty Crocker, Aram reheats their meal on the stove top and microwave as Ressler cuts the turkey roast into slices and places it on a large platter. He looks behind him as Samar and Liz share a laugh, and almost drops the knife in surprise. It’s not the sight of Liz putting up the small tree at the end of the table and Samar decorating the table with candles. It’s the sight of Reddington setting the table for six, placing knives, forks and folded paper napkins beside plates. It’s such a foreign concept to Ressler that he doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Red speaks.

“Close your mouth, Donald, you’ll let the flies in,” he smirks, tilting his head at the agent.

“Right,” Ressler says before shaking his head and returning to cutting up the rest of the roast as Dembe appears with a case of Coca Cola then fills a large bowl with ice.

Their meal ready, the food is arranged in bowls and serving plates in the centre of the table. Aram flips the light off after Samar lights the candles and instantly, the glow of candles and the soft white lights of the Christmas tree morphs the sparse kitchen into a private bistro. The effect is magical as the break room disappears around them, giving them an oasis of light in which to eat their meal by.

“Aaaww…” Liz sighs, as Aram comes up beside her. “We did good,” she smiles.

“Outstanding,” he grins as they take their seats.

As Ressler sits beside Liz, across from Aram, Samar and Dembe, Red takes the head of the table. No one argues. It’s just a given that he will sit at the head. The little tree is at the foot of the table, the perfect addition to their candle lit setting.

They raise their glasses of soft drinks. “To good company and good food - well done Aram on the preparation. To good ideas - well done, Donald. It appears you can still surprise us. And of course, to good company. Merry Christmas,” Red toasts as they raise their respective glasses of coke. “Merry Christmas,” they each toast. Ressler catches Liz’s eyes beside him, lit in the glow of the candles and again is struck by how a winter storm could have brought about such a change in his plans for this evening. Red echoes his thoughts as they begin their meal.

“While my destination in Jamaica was lovely, Dembe and I would have been spending the evening alone. I’m not sure what plans the rest of you had, but I must say, this is very pleasant indeed.”

Ressler couldn’t agree more, barely managing to tear his eyes away from Liz long enough to eat his meal.

“It is,” Aram nods, chowing down on turkey and potatoes, looking at Samar beside him. She nods, tips her glass to them all and nudges into Aram with a smile.

“I’m not sure which wins though,” Samar says, toasting Aram, “my ride on the snow plow, or that you and I finally got dinner together,” she smiles, and this time there is no doubting Aram’s blush under his beard.

“Excellent turkey. My compliments to the chef,” Red teases, eating the precooked roast. For a man used to 5 Star fare, Ressler knows the man is being very gracious right now.

“It’s all in the way it was sliced,” Ressler replies as Liz chuckles beside him and he’s greeted with that little head tilt of Reddingtons.

“Why Donald, who knew you had a sense of humor under that gruff exterior,” he smiles. Ressler raises his glass to the criminal, toasts the man and suppresses a smile.

Dembe, never a man of many words, raises his own glass of soda, “To good friends. May each of you be blessed with Christmas joy,” he says softly, as Liz meets his eyes from across the table. “Thank you to Agent Ressler and to you Elizabeth, for braving the storm.”

“We needed a sled dog team out there on the way to the store!” she grins, and Ressler nods beside her, shrugging a little.

“But it was worth it,” Liz tells them. “Oh, and Ressler also made someone else’s Christmas a little better tonight,” she says, leaning toward Ressler and touching his arm. “A little boy we met at the store.”

“Oh, do tell, Lizzie. I so love a good story.”

###

Their meal eaten and each filled up on pecan and pumpkin pies topped with whipped cream, they lean back at the table.

“Oh, I ate way too much,” Liz complains, rubbing her belly. “It was all good though,” she smiles, looking at the gathering around her.

“And we still have left overs, in case we can’t get out tomorrow,” Aram adds.

“The store is also open tomorrow. We asked the clerk,” Liz tells him.

“In case we can’t get out till New Years,” Ressler adds, his comment met by groans from all present.

“Well, there’s a thought,” chimes in Red, “How on earth will Santa find us in here?” he chuckles before pushing back from the table. “My compliments, my best wishes, and goodnight to all of you,” he addresses the group and exits the break room. Dembe stands to follow his boss, and flashes a broad grin to them.

“Thank you, Donald, Elizabeth, Samar and Aram. It was a most enjoyable evening.”

“You’re welcome, Dembe!” they tell the man as he disappears after Red. “Merry Christmas!” Liz calls after them as they stand and clear the table, depositing the left overs in the small fridge. They leave the kitchen and break room, grabbing a couple of bottles of water first before making their way back to the war room as Aram peels off to retrieve another cot for Samar.

Sitting at her desk, Samar looks at her phone. “I have almost no signal, but at least I can tell what time it is. In one hour it will be Christmas Day.”

‘What would you have been doing tonight if you’d got home?” Liz asks her.

“Oh, not much. I had hoped a friend might invite me for dinner,” she tells them, smiling as Aram returns, pushing another folded cot on its squeaky little wheels.

“I found one. Um… where would you like it set up?” he asks as Samar rises from her desk. “How about next to yours over there,” she says, taking the blankets and pillow from Aram.

“Uh. Oh. Yes. Um, perfect,” he says, pushing the cot toward his own.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Liz whispers to Ressler, guiding him toward their own office. He doesn’t argue, and once inside their office, Ressler sets up his cot and it strikes him that neither he nor Liz ever considered not sleeping in their office when the entire building is at their disposal. And he knows why. This is their space. It’s where they’re comfortable. Neither is ready for sleep, and kicking off their shoes they each sit on their respective cots, leaning against the walls behind them, facing each other.

“When Aram said we were stuck here, I thought at first that was a bad thing,” she tells him facing him across their small office, leaning on the wall behind her as she sits wrapped in her blanket. “It wasn’t.”

It definitely wasn’t, and he nods in agreement. In another life he’d have been at home with his wife and small child, waiting to play Santa at his child’s third Christmas. Liz would be home with her family, similarly occupied. Circumstances have robbed each of them of that. And in the absence of their home families, their work families take on new importance.

The only light in the room comes from the blue glow of their computer screens as they sit on their cots. He’s unaware Liz is watching him until she speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For what is going on in your head right now. Because I know you, Ress, and I also know who you would have been spending tonight with,” she tells him softly.

Hearing it said out loud surprises him, and for a moment he can’t reply. “And for you too,” he tells her, his words feeling tight in his throat.

Her words are equally as taut. “I know…” she agrees and meets his eyes. “It just didn’t work out for me with him, or adopting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his turn to say it now.

“No,” she shifts in her cot, getting more comfortable, “Don’t be. It’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

He leans against the wall, as thoughts of Christmas with his mother and father spring to mind. All so long ago. In another lifetime. Wincing, a gasp escapes him as he lowers himself more in the cot, as his bruised ribs make their presence felt.

“Your ribs really hurt, don’t they?” she asks, sitting up again. “Wait here,” she tells him, then climbs off her cot and jogs out of their office before he can even utter a single “I’m fine.”

She’s back in a minute, clutching a small packet in her hand. “I remember seeing these in the break room, in our pitiful excuse for a First Aid Kit,” she tells him, surprising him by sitting on the edge of his cot.

“What are you...” She’s so close to him that her thigh is touching his.

“Take your shirt off, and I’ll put this on you,” she tells him, holding up her hand as he opens his mouth to argue.

“Don’t argue, okay?”

His eyes drop to the charcoal activated heat pad in her hand. And he gives in, leans up in a sitting position again, bringing him even closer to her. Close enough to smell her perfume. “Who me? I learned a long time ago never to argue with a woman.”

“Wise man. So take your shirt off,” she smiles, meeting his eyes as she holds the white pad in her hands.

He’s already pulling it out of his belt and unbuttoning it, before slipping it off his shoulders. Once again wondering just why he’s so transparent where she’s concerned.

“Whoa…that’s a good one. He really did a number on you…” she says, head ducking as she runs her fingers across the huge purple welt on the side of his chest. And with soft fingers, she places the heat pad against him, pressing on the sticky pads to hold it in place against the deep bruising.

The pad is already starting to warm against his skin as he pulls his shirt back on, buttoning it as she still sits beside him. “Thanks,” he says, not bothering to tuck the shirt in again. And with her sitting beside him, he remembers something and reaches into his pocket to find the item he’d purchased at the store while Liz wasn’t looking. “I know it’s not much, but I got you this,” he tells her, handing her a small box.

Retrieving the small box, she meets his eyes. “What did you… I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

“Not true. You got me instant heat relief for my ribs,” he smiles, as she rolls her eyes at him.

“I just thought of you when I saw it,” he replies, nodding to the small white box. Turning it in the soft light, she sighs, seeing what it is through the clear plastic on the front. A small Christmas ornament of a fir tree laden with heavy snow, pure white with just a few green leaves showing through. “Now you’ll have to put up your tree, and that can be this year’s ornament. You’ll never forget the Christmas Eve stuck at work because of a blizzard."

“Aaaww… Oh, Ress, it’s perfect,” she whispers, opening the box and holding it up on its white ribbon. Tears shining in her eyes, she smiles, then clutches the small ornament in her hand. “Thank you,” she tells him. “Seems it was your night for making women choke up,” she says, attempting to smile, before brushing away a single tear as it escapes.

“Hey, it’s what I do,” he tells her, settling back against the wall behind him. “And they didn’t have any with tsunamis,” he adds, watching her crack up beside him.

“Or hurricanes,” she adds.

“Nope, only snow.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, clutching the small ornament in her hand. “It means a lot. It’s like Sam is still here tonight.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and you were right, I didn’t have any plans for tonight,” he admits.

“I didn’t either. Maybe, like Aram and Samar, I hoped to be having dinner with a friend,” she says as he meets her eyes. “Some wishes do come true at Christmas,” she smiles.

They do. He has to agree with her there as she rises and climbs back into her own cot, placing her tree ornament on the chair near her.

“Goodnight, Ress. Merry Christmas,” she tells him, dropping down to lay on her side, hugging her blanket around her, glancing up at her ornament.

He follows suit, lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling. “Merry Christmas. Goodnight, Liz,” he replies, and is just closing his eyes and settling in when he hears her again.

“My Iron Man,” she says softly, chuckling in the dim light of their office. “I’m glad you didn’t get shot too badly today,” she adds, laughing softly.

“Try telling my chest that,” he chuckles though the heat is already spreading across his ribs, loosening the pain, as she laughs softly in the dim light of their office. But he’s thankful he got off with no more than an ugly purple mark to show for the bullet. Because life still has a lot to offer.

He smiles, thinking of a little boy hugging his Iron Man toy, and with Liz across the room he closes his eyes on the best Christmas Eve’s he’s had in years.


End file.
